


Tempest; To Change The Past

by BeforePeaceIsAStorm



Series: A Dance Between Worlds [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 13, Good Michael (Supernatural), John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Season/Series 01, Time Travel, Wing Grooming, Wing Worship, Wingfic, Wings, canada?, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-09-14 17:28:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16917207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeforePeaceIsAStorm/pseuds/BeforePeaceIsAStorm
Summary: Michael had never known guilt, but in that moment, standing over the ruins of what had once been his Father's most beloved creation, he felt guilty, and he felt alone.After realizing the extent of his mistake, Michael moves back in time to try and fix the past, however, it seems the clock is against him, and he has a major problem. He's fallen in love with Sam Winchester, the Morningstar's vessel.





	1. The Past and the Explosion

Michael stared down at the ash of his own wings scattered over the asphalt, his otherworldly vessel sprawled in the middle, dark eyes unseeing.

Sam Winchester and his brother Castiel had released him from the cage in the hopes that he could kill his own imposter, and it had clearly worked. First, he had managed to drive the second Michael from his vessel by getting Dean to say yes to himself, who- being from the same universe- managed to drive the other out and back into his own vessel, before killing him.

He hated what had become of the world, demons and monsters free to wreak havoc, most of the Host was dead and Heaven unable to be properly powered… all because of him, he had pushed the apocalypse, he had insisted on fighting Lucifer, and he had broken the Winchester’s enough to set everything in motion…

He barely registered collapsing to his knees, not even having noticed as his wings carried him easily to the garden, where he wallowed. What had he done?

A small hum, a light buzz and a whisper echoed in his ear, soft like the rolling hills as they met the skyline, warm like the heat of the stars and familiar… Michael would know that voice anywhere, it was the voice that had raised and guided him, it was the voice of his Father…

“ _So fix it_ ,” The voice spoke, “ _Fix your mistake, Michael._ ”

“Yes, Father,” He agreed obediently, stretching his wings and gathering the tattered remains of his Grace, blackened and torn from his time in the cage, in a bright flash of white that shook the world, Michael disappeared into the past.

~

Sam drummed his fingers to the beat of the blaring music along the car door. In the seats around him, his friends sang along obnoxiously to the music, windows rolled down to cool the sweltering heat inside the car, where Sam’s shirt had long ago begun to cling to his shirt, soaked with sweat.

He had never been a party person, but his friends had dragged him from his studies for a night out, the house they were heading to was quite out of the way, they were driving through a bunch of backroads, the moon and highbeams being the only source of light in the dark evening.

“Hey, Sam!” He turned to look at the designated driver, his friend Justin, who was grinning goofily, sandy blonde hair falling across his face, “You should totally-” Unfortunately, Sam never got to hear what Justin would say, as seconds later he was crashing forward, seat belt snapping with a whip-like crack as he was sent through the windshield

He jerked his arms up to cover his face a he scraped over the pavement, rolling a few times before skidding until he halted, panting heavily against the asphalt. Sam’s entire body stung, but he dragged himself to his feet, blinking to clear his fuzzy head and turning to the totaled car. The red vehicle was easily visible in the night, a large pickup which was a faded blue had rear-ended them.

He furrowed his brow, taking a step towards the car, preparing his throat to call out, when a heavy force tackled him, and there was a bright explosion of orange light.

Sam blinked, glad that the person had shielded his head, and turned his attention to the car.

Flames licked hungrily over the surface of the metal, dancing higher in the night sky, flaming debris was scattered around the road. “No,” He choked out weakly, reaching out for the car around the mans back, “No!”

He let out a sob, still reaching for the car, even as everything went dark.

~

Sam blinked awake with a groan, the sharp contrast of the light above stung his eyes and he was forced to squint.

He was in a hospital room, that much he knew. He had woken up in one enough times to recognize the sterile smell, the stark white rooms and the muffled beeps.

He sat up slowly, taking note of his injuries with an experienced eye. He was mostly just scraped and bruised, although his left arm was sprained quite badly.

He was just beginning to wonder about the man who has shielded him from the explosion, when the door to his room opened with a faint creak.

“Ah, you’re awake,” The man smiled slightly, giving Sam little time to wonder over his eyes, which were an eerie shade of electric blue.

“You’re not a doctor,” He pointed out warily, noticing the lack of proper attire for either a doctor or a nurse.

“No,” The man agreed, shutting the door behind him with a click, “I’m the man who saved you from the explosion.” Speak of the devil…

“Thank you, were you the other driver?” He asked, they had not been near any houses and he did not recognize the man.

“No, he sadly passed away upon impact, I was merely nearby at the time of the accident.” The man explained vaguely, lips twitching upward.

Sam got the feeling he was missing something… “Then who are you?” He asked warily, eyes narrowing.

“Sam Winchester,” He watched in awe as the man tilted his head back, shoulders squaring while shadows of enormous wings were projected onto the wall, the crackle of energy filled the air,

“ _My name is Michael, and I have work for you_.”


	2. Goodbye Stanford

“ _Sam Winchester,” He watched in awe as the man tilted his head back, shoulders squaring while shadows of enormous wings were projected onto the wall, the crackle of energy filling the air,_

_“My name is Michael, and I have work for you.”_

 

Sam blinked in awe, mind flashing back to the many days he’d spent with Pastor Jim. He knew the name of Michael, of course he did, everyone in the church knew of the Prince of Heaven.

He blinked, senses dulled with the lull of shock as he tried to speak, though it came out as more of a garbled mess than anything. “What do you need?” He finally settled on, an odd feeling stirring deep within his chest.

The being blinked back, shadows disappearing along with the pure light, he seemed to grow tired, as if aging in the blink of an eye.

“I made a mistake,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “and everyone else paid the price.”

They lapsed into a bought of silence, and Sam remembered those that he had let down. “And Stanford?” He asked, thought he wasn’t truly worried about it.

“When it’s all over,” Michael promised, “You can go back.”

Sam nodded, “Alright, then let’s go.”

Michael strode over to the bed, pace even and strides measured. He brushed a hand over Sam’s arm, and like a breeze, warm air washed over him, and before he could react, the many scrapes and bruises that littered his body disappeared.

He blinked in shock, swinging his legs over the bed railing, gently setting his feet down. When no pain sparked, he slowly stood, surprised to find that it was like he was never injured.

“If you are finished,” he glanced up, cheeks flushing, though the other male only looked amused. “Come, I can explain more along the way.”

The two left the room behind and entered the corridor, Sam was quite surprised when no one even spared them a glance, especially considering his hospital attire. “Can they…” he furrowed his brow in confusion as a woman nearly bumped into him, “can they see us?”

“No,” Michael glanced at him from the corner of his eye, “nice observation.”

Sam preened internally at the compliment, gait lengthening slightly as the front entrance slid open for them, and he found himself outside. He couldn't help it, Sam sucked in a large breath of air, enjoying the slight tingle in his lungs from the cold. He hated hospitals, they brought back many traumatic memories, even just the fresh air improved his mood tenfold.

He followed Michael, the pair weaving between the many parked cars until they stopped in front of- oddly enough- an old mustang. She was a light, polished silver with a dark, convertible roof. They hopped inside, and Sam cast an admiring glance over the interior. Cars had always been Dean’s thing, but he too could enjoy a nice vehicle. He fastened his seatbelt, running a careful hand over the smooth material. He was a bit nervous to be in a car again so soon after the accident, however he felt much safer knowing that he was in the car with a literal angel.

“I got you clothes, we’ll stop at a restaurant in a few minutes for you to change and eat,” Michael explained as he slowly began to back out of the parking space with what seemed to be familiar ease. He shifted gears, and started for the exit, eyes focused ahead of him.

“So…” Sam began when they were further down the road, “an angel that can drive?”

The other male huffed a laugh, “yeah,” he agreed, looking more human than Sam had ever seen him, “a friend taught me.” Now, however, his expression took on a darker edge, and Sam cursed himself.

They lapsed into silence, and Sam was grateful when they finally pulled into the parking lot of an old diner. The building looked worn, orange and blue paint chipped and peeling, cracks spanning upwards from the door. The bell jingled, which lit a faint feeling of nostalgia in his chest.

“I will wait for you,” Michael assured, handing him a small plastic bag with stiff movements.

“Thanks,” Sam smiled, and entered the washroom. He was surprised to find that the clothes not only fit him, but was actually something he would wear. It was a pair of dark jeans and a red flannel, with a black jacket.

He found Michael in a corner by the window, and slid into the booth across from him, casually swiping some hair behind his ear.

“Did you already order?” He asked, getting comfortable in the plush seat, fingertips smoothing over the leather.

The dark haired male tilted his head to the side, “I do not require sustenance, but you may order as you wish.” Sam tapped his fingers on the table as they waited for a server.

_One… two, three… one… two, three_

The old jukebox in the corner looked ready to break down, yet it still played some old tune that he couldn't quite recognize. The place smelled of fast food and the perfume of servers, the loud clattering of the cooks and the chattering of the few people within the establishment was familiar, calming, even.

Sam glanced around the rundown building, enjoying the familiar bustle of the diner as he waited for the server, resting his hand on his leg while he focused on the room around himself. He eyed the people around him, scanning for any signs of a weapon, a habit he’d never really managed to kick.

There was a woman in the far corner chatting with the man next to her, he assumed they didn't know each other as they sat apart, body language a bit stiffer and more formal. They were dressed quite casually, and so he thought they must have met at the counter, one probably saying something that interested the other. He could tell neither had visible weapons on them, though of course he knew better than anyone just how good one could conceal a knife or gun if need be.

He began to focus on another person, when a voice broke through the cloud of his thoughts. “Is there anything I can get you?” He turned to look, a young girl was at the table, notebook in hand, her blonde hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. Her outfit was a flower yellow with a white trim, and her name tag read ‘Kelsie.’ He took in each of these things, before casting a quick glance over the menu- ignoring Michael’s stare- and picking the first thing he saw. He repeated his order with a polite smile, and turned to the angel as she left, foot tapping lightly on the ground.

“So, what's the plan?” He found himself asking, leaning back into the mimic of a relaxed pose, legs splaying out into a more comfortable position under the table for a man of his stature.

The being sat back in his seat, fingers tapping at the table to Sam’s own, usual rhythm- which the brunet found slightly odd, as the male had only heard it once- before speaking. “In order to be prepared for what is to come,” He glanced down at his hands, and- as if realizing what he was doing- the tapping stopped, “we shall be hunting together for a time, though not in the United States.” Sam furrowed his brow, and Michael glanced around, as if to be sure no one was listening in, despite knowing otherwise, his voice lowering. “We will be hunting in Canada.”

Sam glanced around, fighting down the odd feeling in his chest, “why can't we hunt here?” He asked, fingertips grazing the table, scanning for any deformities in the wood to distract himself.

“There is too much a risk of running into some people that should _definitely_ not know what we are doing.” Sam sobered at those words, scanning the room once more.

“Just what have you dragged me into?” He couldn't help but blurt, because the thought that there could be a risk if they ran into the wrong person, despite Michael being an _archangel_ … it was worrying, to be honest.

Michael froze, for a long moment he said nothing, body completely stilled until he looked more like a statue than a human. “The apocalypse…” he whispered, almost apologetically, “I’ve dragged you into the apocalypse…”

He opened his mouth to speak, however, he never managed, as the waitress set his food and water down in front of him, muttering an absent spiel.  
  
He spent the rest of the meal in silence, glancing up in worried curiosity at the male avoiding his sharp gaze.

He finished quickly, a little startled when Michael actually stole a few pieces off his plate, who looked slightly surprised himself as he did so.

Michael paid- which Sam thanked him stiffly for- and then they were back into the car, pulling away from the small diner – and away from Santa Clara, Sam's college life was now over, and there was no going back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this is really short, but I saw an opportunity at the end and I took it. I hope you enjoyed!


	3. Warding and the First Hunt

Sam glanced behind him, a feeling of loss growing in his chest as he watched the border disappear, falling away behind him under the gentle swell of a hill. Beside him, Michael drove silently, jaw clenched slightly, and Sam could see a little strain in the way he held himself, his usually impeccable posture was slouched slightly, hands shaking. “Are you alright?” He found himself asking worriedly, catching himself and stilling the hand that had reached out to touch him. “You seem… off…” it came with being a Winchester, he was naturally allergic to feelings, and so he found himself having trouble getting out exactly what he wanted to say.

Michael barely managed to speak, voice coming out in a sharp hiss, “I am alright, merely… a little tired…”

“Pull over,” Sam frowned worriedly, watching as the man complied, pulling off the road and onto the side, car crackling slightly as it rolled over the gravel. He dropped his hands from the wheel, tilting his head to look at Sam, eyes flickering slightly.

“What's going on?” He asked a bit gentler, scanning the angel for any signs of injury.

“Getting here took more energy than I’d have liked, and shielding us has not been easy while driving.” Sam furrowed his brows, clicking the lock on his door.

“What do you mean, shielding us?” Sam asked curiously, glancing around the car as if he would be able to see a shimmering forcefield over the car, despite it not having been there before.

“I have been cloaking us, the physical wards on my vehicle are not enough, they need my power behind them to truly work without any breakage.” Michael replied, perking up slightly.

Sam thought for a moment, before speaking up, “couldn't you just… pour your power into the physical wards? That way you could rest and regain some energy while the wards stay up.”

Michael shook his head groggily, “no, they would eventually run out, I would need something to loop-” he broke off, staring at Sam in a way that set him on edge slightly, “I would need a conduit, something like…”

“Me,” Sam finished quietly, thoughtfully, “you want to loop your power through me.”

Michael nodded, “it would do nothing to you, all you would need to do is be in the car and the wards would activate, until I regain enough power to ward you myself.”

Sam thought for a moment, before nodding, “yes, you can use me to power the wards.” He agreed, fiddling with the sleeve of his shirt.

“Then you’ll be driving.” Sam stepped out, and the two swapped, the archangel looking more sluggish than Sam was comfortable with. Two fingers were pressed easily to his forehead, and power that felt like fire coarsed through him, and yet he felt not an ounce of pain, the feeling was warm, comfortable, and almost… familiar, in a way.

The angel drew away, both gasping, and the dark haired male settled across from him, blue eyes sharp as he settled nearly instantly into sleep.

Sam could feel the power as he started to drive, it felt much like Michael said, a loop, he was subconsciously feeding power into the wards, the used power flowing back into him to be filtered by the rest of the power.

He cast a glance over at Michael, taking in with slight surprise how peaceful he looked. For the whole time that Sam had known him, he had been on edge, back straight, eyes always scanning everything around him, and somehow he knew the angels power was doing the same. But now, in this moment, he was completely relaxed, face open. Sam couldn't help but let out a breath of relief, it was actually quite nice to see him like that. Sam’s lips twitched, and he continued towards the nearest motel.

  
He pulled over, killing the engine easily. He had decided to continue a little further, deciding to ditch the motel idea, as Michael would have to cloak them. Instead, he decided it would be better to just sleep in the ca,r where the wards would protect them. He pulled just far enough away that they were unlikely to be seen, and cracked the windows, taking the keys from the ignition. He put them in the glove box and lowered his seat, story already prepared. He would tell the police that they were from America, and that they had gotten lost looking for the next town, too exhausted to continue, Sam pulled over and decided to rest for a few hours.

Yawning, he curled into the seat, sneaking a glance out of the window before he fell asleep, breath evening into a gentle lull, mind peaceful for the night.

Thankfully, they had no trouble with officers that night, and Sam woke up early as ever, the bright light of dawn had him up easily, stretching. He was used to sleeping in a car, but that didn't exactly make it easy.

He retrieved the keys from where he’d stashed them the previous evening and started the car, really not all that surprised to see that Michael was still asleep. He didn't know what the archangel had been through, but it must have been a lot with how tired he’d been the night before, and how long he'd slept.

And so Sam drove, he drove and drove and drove until his eyes stung and his stomach grumbled, he drove until he’d been on the road for hours, his hands cramping at the wheel. To be fair, he was beginning to grow worried, he didn't want to leave the car, and Michael was still asleep.

By five he pulled over. He was used to being hungry, so that was no problem, but his vision had begun to blur, and the angel still slept. He leaned back, they were in some nowhere town at the moment, stopped in the parking lot of an establishment called ‘Tim Hortons’. He sighed quietly, running a hand through his hair. ‘ _Damnit, Michael, please wake up_ ,’ he couldn't help but think, and as if he’d heard, the male began to stir.

He breathed a sigh of relief, he’d never been happier to see the posture stiffen, blue eyes fluttering open under dark lashes. He looked confused for a moment, glancing around, and then his eyes landed on Sam, instantly widening.

Sam furrowed his brows, “Michael?” He questioned, and like a rubberband, his face became stoic, eyes seeming to finally focus on him.

“My apologies, Samuel,” he apologized, “for a moment I thought…” he trailed off, shaking his head before noticing how light it was outside. “How long… how long was I asleep?”

Sam snuck a quick peek at the clock before answering, “nearly 24 hours,” he watched as shock overtook him.

“Almost an entire day!” He bolted upright, eyes wide, “have you been driving this entire time-?”

“No,” Sam shook his head, “pulled over at about midnight, slept ‘till five, I’ve only been driving for a few hours.”

“That is still a substantial amount of time,” Michael argued, “have you at least eaten?”

Looking the slightest bit cowed, Sam shook his head and Michael huffed irritably. “Come then, find us the nearest tattoo parlour, we’ll get you warded as quickly as possible, then you can eat as much as you’d like.”

Sam nodded, and started the engine.

  
With a bit of Michael’s help, they managed to get a tattoo artist that specialized in supernatural warding. Sam didn't exactly know what his tattoo would look like, but Michael apparently did. He was holding a small, folded piece of paper that he claimed would be Sam's new tattoo, though the brunet was slightly worried about what it might be. He knew it contained warding, but he’d rather not just have a ton of symbols spread across his back.

It hurt, slightly, but he was used to worst. The tattoo was done quickly and easily with Michael's help to speed along the process, his healing and re-energizing made it so that Sam didn't need more than one session, and so, in the bright light of the tattoo parlour, Michael revealed Sam’s tattoo.

It was gorgeous, a pair of wolves, side by side howling at the moon. Tall pine trees rose up behind where they stood on the steep cliff face. When he looked close, he could see the many symbols that made up the image, each close enough that one wouldn't notice them if not paying attention. He gasped audibly, focused on taking in every inch. It was perfect.

“How…” his gaze flickered from the mirror that was aimed at his back, to the angel across from him, watching with what looked to be nervousness dancing in his light eyes.

“A friend of mine,” he answered, shifting uncomfortably, “he once wanted this tattoo, I figured that you might like it…”

Sam nodded, because of course, he absolutely loved it.

“Thank you,” he whispered, though he wasn't quite sure that it was just for the tattoo.

  
“I’ve found us a case, about three miles from here.” Sam glanced up from his plate. He and Michael had been staying in a motel for the last few days, looking for a job to work. So far he had enjoyed staying with the angel, he was neat and never touched Sam's things without permission, not to mention that he was really quite courteous, unlike his father or brother had ever been.

“What do we got?” Sam asked, setting his fork aside. This would be the first case that they had ever worked together, and he had to admit, he was both nervous and excited, with a bright sprinkling of curiosity. Would they work well together? Would they actually gank the monster?

“It appears to be a wendigo,” Michael answered, sliding into the booth across from him, and though his tone was serious, his eyes were shining with something Sam couldn't quite put to name, though he could of sworn it was… excitement?

“Really?” He asked, pushing away his food, “I didn't think we’d find any up here.”

Michael shrugged, “they generally house themselves anywhere so long as the habitat is correct.” Placing down a few files, he began to go over the victims, “eight in the last fifteen years, all disappeared within three miles of each other.”

“Alright,” he agreed, looking up from the paper so they could lock eyes, both giving a matching half-smirk, “Let's go.”

  
Sam had to admit, he was quite surprised, something he often felt around the archangel. He looked so much more relaxed than normal, despite knowing that there could potentially be a wendigo stalking them. He was taking deep breaths- though Sam knew he didn't need them- his posture more relaxed than normal, and Sam could even see the glimmer of emotion reflected in his eyes. Sam made a quick mental note to himself to get them both out into the woods more often, where they could hopefully unwind and recharge.

They made their way along the trail, methodically searching the woods before them. Having some of Michael's grace twined within the tattoo dancing along his shoulder blades, and having carried it briefly, he recognized the powerful way it combed the forest around him, scanning for any sign of a possible threat.

They stopped a few miles in and made camp, the warm air was soothing as they set up their tents in the hopes to bait the creature, the golden light filtered through the towering trees, casting a halo of light over the land. Shadows flitted easily over the soft grass, and for a brief moment he thought he saw a few wild deer.

“Well,” Sam breathed in awe, reveling in the fact that he could faintly hear the trickle of a stream in the distance, “I must say, the wendigo has good taste.”

Michael chuckled, “I suppose so.”

It had begun to grow darker, and so Sam strayed to the edges of camp, carefully picking out wood for the fire. Most of it was dry, as it had not rained in quite a bit, so he placed them in his arms. Only, he was so focused in his task, that Sam didn't once notice as he crossed the protective line, not until it was too late, at least.

It felt like a truck had barreled into him, he went careening sideways, hands grappling for something to hold onto as his firewood was sent flying. His stomach lurched as he was dragged through the foliage, scrapes and bruises smattering easily over his skin as he was smacked and beat with thin, whip-like branches.

He vaguely heard a yell of alarm in the distance, though it was mostly covered by the harsh growling of the creature that carried him. His lungs burned harshly as air was forced through with a whistle, due to the pressure of the winds he was unable to close his mouth, and he found himself coughing and hacking. It was even worse, though, as he was thrown to the dirt floor, wind knocked out of him. The beast dragged him forward roughly by the hands, using a nearby rope to tie his hands together before he could even try to escape.

He kicked out, only to be rewarded with a rough cuff on the head, blood spilling from a deep gash on his forehead. He cried out lightly, though he did his best not too, but the cut burned like wildfire and his head began to pound. He was tied to a pole, the cold metal stung his hands and only caused more pain as he thrashed. Panic gripped his throat and he screamed out as best he could, only hoping the other would hear him. “Michael!”

Somethings sharp and dangerous crackled, dancing along his skin like a burning blaze of embers and he knew the angel was coming for him.

  
The wendigo circled the human camp, eyes narrowed as he stalked his prey. He had been a little startled to stumble upon them in his territory, the perfect hunter in every way, he still hadn't noticed them. He followed curiously, hunger driving him forward to seek out his next meal. It took him only a few moments of tailing to realize they were cloaked, and that is why he hadn't noticed them at first, however, it was no problem, as the humans were not the only ones cloaked.

He felt the tattered remnants of power as it rolled over him easily, it felt like water as the little ripples disappeared behind him. The not-human cast a glance in his direction, but otherwise continued.

The wendigo prefered to hunt at night- purely his own choice of course- so he felt much better when darkness had begun to fall, and the measly creatures settled down to make a camp. He snorted, irritated when they set up a barrier, one he couldn't break. A few others had done the same before, carrying with them a weapon that stung and tore in the odd chance that it actually hit him. He remembered they had tasted much more delicious than the others, perhaps it was the feeling of revenge that made them so sweet? The meat juicy and tender, perfect for the harsh winter that the meal had resided in.

He circled just outside the barrier, watching the human come close to him absently, like a moth to a flame. The not-human had busied himself creating that orange light that had always had his heart racing, and his senses screaming danger, danger.

All it took was one hand outside the circle to break it, and he barreled into the human, gathering him up easily in his long arms. Had the beast not been itching to fight, his survival instincts activated, he would have probably took both of them, however, he knew the not-human was powerful, maybe even more so than himself. If they were to fight, the wendigo would do it on his terms.

He took off faster than any creature could hope to follow, though the not-human seemed to almost match him for speed, probably even outdoing him, but he waited, not even following the wendigo into his cave. This was his territory, thankfully the broken not-human seemed to realize this, and remained outside.

He tied up the human easily, throwing him down across from his other food- which was remaining silent as the scene went down- and making sure he was secure, before howling his challenge.

This was his home, he’d been here hundreds of years now, and he wouldn't let this thing take it from him.

The ground began to shake around him, the air heating up, and he took a step back, snarling. The being entered, and it was like something had snapped, tattered as it was, the power was more than he could even comprehend. Wings stretched out wide, six in all directions until the room was too bright to stand. Heat, heat, heat, it burned and burned until he couldn't stand to live any longer.

The wendigo was dead.

  
Michael reached out, the light of his power dying down as he pressed his fingers to Sam’s forehead, the wounds beginning to heal.

He pulled Sam to his feet, mindful the other male was still dizzy, and grinned, “great teamwork there, Sam.”

Sam rolled his eyes, instantly looking regretful of that action, “when did you get so snarky?”

Michael chuckled, turning to the other human, and a wave of his hand had them healed.

“Come, then, let's get you two out of here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey again, thanks for the kudos and bookmarks, everyone! I do a bit better writing action, so thankfully this chapter is a bit longer than the first two. Enjoy!


	4. Tattered Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, this really isn't my best work, and I'm sorry for that, this chapter just really doesn't like me. Enjoy!

The second hunt- thankfully- went much better. It was a vampire nest, just on the border between Ontario and Quebec. Hawkesbury was a small town, and it was dark when they pulled into the motel parking lot. Golden lights illuminated the way inside, and Sam was pleasantly surprised by how nice the interior was.

“Hi, salut,” the man at the counter greeted, perking up from where he had leant over the counter. “What’re you looking for today? And for how long?

“Hi,” Sam nodded back, approaching the counter. Michael was grabbing their bags, which left Sam to checking in. “Do you have a room with two queens available for a week?”

“Sure do!” The man nodded, spinning around to grab the keys, “I’ll need your name and credit card.”

“Jonathan Kearney.” The man checked his credit card and signed him in before handing over the keys.

“Have a great stay!” He called. Sam turned, slightly surprised to see that Michael was by the door, watching the scene with an unreadable look.

“23,” Sam informed as they stepped outside, heading for their room.

“Perfect,” Michael nodded, quickening his pace so that he could get the bags in the room as fast as possible.

  
“Qui-est-” The officer began, eyes hard as they approached.

“RCMP, Je suis agent Jackson et ceci est agent Collin.” Sam barely managed to show his badge, he was startled by the casual use of french, and did his best to keep up with what Michael did.

“Qu’es qu’on a ici?” Michael asked, scanning the scene with cold eyes.

“Deux, une femme et un homme, possiblement mariees, si les bagues sur leur doight son un indication,” the cop answered, tugging lightly at his collar.

“Est- ce qu’ils ont des indentifications sur eux?” Michael questioned, and Sam felt a bit lost. He knew the basics of french, but he had absolutely no clue what was going on.

“Non, mais ils doivent venir de hors de ville,” He casually adjusted his uniform slightly, it looked to be a bit of a habit.

“pourquoi?” The angel narrowed his eyes, now seemingly curious.

The man blinked, “ bien parce qu’ils ont des valises, et personnes sembles a les reconnaitre, C’est un bon indice dans ce petit village de Hawksbury.”

Michael nodded in understanding, “ Merci, nous ferrons notre propre investigation, s’il vous plait, laisse nous savoire si il y a des nouvelles.” With that, the angel spun on his heel, and led Sam towards the bodies.

“So what are we looking at here?” Sam asked, still slightly reeling.

“A man and a woman- probably married- from out of town. No one recognized them and they were found with suitcases, oddly enough, no ID.” Sam hummed in acknowledgment as they entered the home, it smelled very clearly of a corpse. Years of practice is what kept him from wrinkling his nose as they entered the room. A woman and a man were sprawled over the linoleum, eyes glazed over with death.

A lump formed in Sam's throat, and he took instead to examining the scene. No matter how many times he saw a body, it always left him feeling horrible.

  
Michael made a vague signal with his hands, and it only took a moment for Sam to understand. He crept along the back of the warehouse, senses sharp to alert him of any threats. He poked around the corner, glad when he finally spotted the door he knew to be there. Carefully, he positioned himself outside of it, using his fingers to test where the door would open in the darkness.

He heard the thundering of footsteps, the sound of a blade whistling, and the hissing of vampires.

The iron door banged open with a crash, and he lunged, blade easily taking off the head of the vampire. The others- realizing it was an ambush- rushed him, fangs bared and eyes filled with hot rage.

He ducked around them as best he could, feeling relieved when Michael joined him. Sam decapitated another, and turned to face Michael, eyes growing wide. “Behind you!” He cried, leaping for the scene.

The vampire grabbed hold of the angel, the other helping to subdue him. Sam pulled his gun from his pocket and shot. One of the vampires turned to him, a bullet marring its cheek, blood leaking from the wound. He lunged, just barely managing to catch him with an injection of dead man's blood. He turned to the beast clinging to Michael and lunged, he ducked under a stray arm and circled around. He grabbed the vampire by the back of the shirt and pulled, he dislodged him just enough that the archangel could swing around, and the head of the attacker went flying.

Both panted as the body fell to the floor with a light thump, silence stretching between them for a long moment. “Thank you,” Michael looked up at him, he seemed… upset? Was it because Sam helped him? Perhaps because Sam hadn't warned him earlier? Had he done something wrong? Was Michael disappointed? _Was_ -

As if sensing his thoughts, Michael flashed a smile, “thanks for your help, you did great.”

Michael was quiet the whole way back to the motel, and not the same way he normally was, either. The air felt tense, and he could tell something was bothering the archangel.

  
“Hey, you alright?” Sam asked when he finally couldn't stand it any longer. Michael looked up from where he was grabbing a towel. Sam chalked up the squirmy feeling in his chest to the fact that he was worried about the other being, and _not_ the fact that he was wearing a blue, low cut t-shirt that revealed pale skin, a thin, corded necklace falling from his throat. Or that he was going to take a shower. It's absurd to even think about, he was just worried, that's all.

“I am alright, why do you ask?” Sam really wished he could read _something_ from that, _anything_.

“You seem… upset, you have ever since the hunt.” He answered, watching as Michael nodded before starting for the bathroom. “Michael,” he stopped, hand on the door knob, he tilted his head to the side to show that he was listening. “You _can_ talk to me, I mean, I know I’m just a human, but I’ll still listen.”

_Michael left._

  
It was difficult, in that moment. He wanted to talk to Sam, he wanted to turn, he wanted so much to scream his frustrations. He wanted to rant and rave about how _damaged_ he was. He wanted nothing more than to show Sam his blackened, tattered wings, his dull grace and his scarred true form.

Michael smashed his fist into the wall of the shower, only withholding his angelic strength kept the wall from bending beneath his hand. The water stung at his eyes in a way that was so human it made his heart ache. He knew now that there was nothing wrong with humans, but that didn't mean he wanted to _be_ one. His wings curled around him in a vague attempt at comfort, though it did nothing to soothe the ripples of agony in his grace.

When he re-entered the room, Sam was beneath the blankets, turned away from him.

  
Things were a little tense for awhile, but hunts fixed that easily. Together the duo hunted for a year, until both worked in such sync that they were almost the same person. Sam grew even more accustomed to the life and resented it less and less. Michael's grace strengthened until he was just over half of his usual power level.

  
Things were picking up, and it was time for the Archangel and his hunting partner to return to America.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're really curious about what the french says, just ask.
> 
> If I messed up on any of it, let me know, I got a friend to do it, but her main language is english.


	5. Fam'ntal and Midnight Musings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I'm terrible at slow burn, and we finally learn what Michael thinks of Sam.

“We’d better get ourselves to Stanford.” Sam tore his gaze from the window, the familiar scene lulling him into a deep sense of security. Within, he felt something click into place, as if happy to be home. He found his gaze drifting back to the beautiful forest that they were passing, even as he spoke.

“So what’s the plan?” He asked, not bothering to even try and turn anymore. He had loved Canada, it was beautiful, and the people there were friendly, but he had really missed his own country..

Michael paused for a long moment, and Sam had to wonder if he even had a plan. It was understandable- of course- that even Michael may not have everything mapped out to perfection. He may not have been human, but he was a hell of a lot closer than Sam had ever expected.

“We go with the flow,” Michael answered eventually, glancing over at Sam with piercing eyes, “we do what we can.”

Sam thought for a long moment, he wondered whether it was a good idea to voice the question that had been on his mind since the very beginning, when Michael had led him from that hospital room and into the unknown. As if being back in America gave him strength, Sam spoke. “You still haven’t told me why,” It was vague, but Sam didn't actually know if he would be able to get anything else out at that moment.

“ _Why_?” He asked curiously, hands tightening over the leather steering wheel in an odd quirk that Sam recognized as the archangel trying to avoid the topic..

“Why me? Why are we doing this? Why now?” Sam elaborated, voice growing cooler and smoother with each word, “Why, lots of things.”

The other man cast a glance at Sam and nodded, sucking in a breath that Sam knew meant he was going to speak, and he would say everything on his mind. “I chose you because I know what you can do. I know first hand your determination, and your willingness to do whatever it takes, even if it means losing yourself in the process.” Sam had an odd feeling in his chest at the words, it tingled and danced like sparks, but he pushed it away as Michael began to speak again, “we’re doing this because it’s my duty, to you, to the world, and most of all to myself. As for why now?

“Now, because I was too blind before to realize what I was doing, and how it affected others.” Sam furrowed his brow, there was lots of pain in those words, agony dripped from every word, bitterness tainting every inch. What could he have possibly done, to cause him so much pain? Sam had always known that he was broken, but this Being was shattered, he was barely even alive.

Sam remained silent for the rest of the ride, though he did feel something deep within his chest reach out. It twined within that familiar power. Coated in sorrow as it was, Sam felt a small hum, and then the pain lessened.

  
Michael nearly jumped in surprise when he felt Sam’s soul twine with his grace. A quick peek at the other male told the archangel that the human was unaware of what he’d done. He could feel his power hum and ripple, before curling back. For the first time in a really long time, Michael felt complete.

  
“ _Dean_?” Sam sounded incredulous. Michael had warned him this would happen, though that certainly didn’t mean he was prepared to face his older brother again so soon.

“Hey Sammy,” the familiar voice spoke, sending a bloom of warmth echoing throughout his chest. He released the man from where he had pinned him to the wall, stepping back a few feet to give the older man space. He was thankful when the light flicked on, and the room was lit with a warm, golden glow.

“Sam,” he greeted, eyes flicking to Dean, “any trouble?”

The brunet shook his head, he knew what the other male meant, he was making sure that Sam wasn't injured, “no, it's alright. This is my brother, Dean.”

Michael stared at Dean, sizing him up. Sam could tell that his brother was uncomfortable due to the light shifts of his feet, though to his credit, he didn't show any outward signs. They stared for what felt like days- though Sam knew to only be a few minutes- before Dean eventually quirked his eyebrow in question.

“Michael,” the angel spoke, still not removing his gaze, “Michael Kearney.”

Dean cast a glance at Sam, one that read as, ‘ _why are you bunking with this dude_ ’ and gave a tense smile. “Hey, nice to meet you. Look, I’ve got to talk about some private, family business with my brother here, so…”

Sam gave a brief pause, before straightening and stepping up so he was next to the angel, “no. No you can say what you need to in front of Michael.”

“Okay,” Dean looked slightly irritated as he stepped aside so he was facing the duo. “Dad hasn't been home in a few days.”

“So?” Sam raised his eyebrows, unable to keep the sharp sting of bitterness feom his slightly cold tone, eyes hard “He’s working overtime on another time shift, he’ll stumble back in sooner or later.” He cast a glance at the man next to him, thankful for the words. Michael had warned Sam that if he didn't know what to say, to brush against him so the angel could transfer something.

Dean glanced down in veiled annoyance, green eyes flashing, “dad's on a hunting trip, and he hasn't been home in a few days.”

Sam paused a lump growing in his throat, the clear meaning behind his words echoing like a gunshot. He sucked in a breath, gaze flickering to Michael, he didn't think he could speak if he wanted to. His father had to have been gone awhile if Dean had come to him…

“I’ll fetch the emergency bag, where did you leave the salt?” Michael spoke upon noticing his predicament, saving him from needing to. The male brushed a hand over his shoulder in comfort, before leaving from the room. Sam glanced around, hoping to look at anything but Dean. He focused on the window, the faint streams of light that filtered through the window were a vague comfort, while not afraid, he had never enjoyed the small space of the kitchen, and the window, the thought of there being more made him feel slightly better.

“Sam? Mind explaining?” Sam knew what Dean meant. He wanted to know who Michael was, and whether he knew.

“Michael's a hunter as well, it's been a lot easier staying with someone who understands the need for wards, weapons and salt-” He felt his hands fidgeting. He knew it would sound more realistic if he rambled slightly, “-He actually showed me a few new sigils.” Sam stated casually, before throwing a quick, “On the windowsill!” Over his shoulder. He figured the more comfortable he seemed with Michael, the more likely that Dean was to let him tag along. (Even though Michael would follow anyway).

Sam ran his hands along the wood behind him, ignoring Dean’s gaze flicking to the motion. It was a habit that he’d picked up a long time ago, a nervous tick, if you will. Whenever he was nervous, bored, or overly excited, he did something with his hands, whether it be tapping, scratching, or even just sliding his hand over something. It gave him something to focus on, to centre himself and gain more control over his thoughts.

“Are you two- um…”Dean raised an eyebrow, looking awkward, “you know…”

Sam blushed, spluttering, his heart fluttering and his palms growing sweaty, “w-what?” He practically squeaked, the many images he bore in his mind of the archangel jumping to the forefront of his brain. He stepped back, as if to escape the images that floated unbidden to the surface _. Michael grinning up at him from some diners table, eyes bright. Michael pulling him from the dusty cement floor, hands locked together, the angel smiling, even despite the blood that decorated his outfit, moonlight casting a halo of silver over his raven coloured hair. The other man stoic, blade at his side, as he stood between Sam and the monster, eyes cold and hard, jaw clenched._ “no!” He denied, ignoring Dean’s familiar ‘yeah right’ look.

“We’re not- no!” Thankfully, he was saved once more by Michael, no longer subjected to the sharp stare of his older brother.

“Two!” The angel called, and Sam spun around, easily snatching the black bag from the air. It was something they had done often, just tossing things to each other when it was needed, much like what Dean and he had done.

A quick glance over the pack told him that this was indeed the second pack, the one filled mostly with clothes. The clothes pack contained a bunch of their clothes, packed in a bit more randomly than Sam would prefer, a few guns and a few knives. The bag that Michael carried was filled with all their weapons. Pipes, blades, guns and ammo, even- oddly enough- a foldable, double-headed axe… still no idea where Michael got that one…

“Where was he, and what was he hunting?” Michael asked, absently shoving a canister of salt into the green bag.

“Jericho, I don't know what he was hunting.” The blonde answered stiffly, green eyes narrow.

// _My car or his_? \\\ Sam nearly jumped as the voice echoed in his mind.

// _Michael?_ \\\ He questioned curiously. The voice sounded a little crackly, but he had still been able to make out the words. Since when had Michael been able to speak in his mine.

// _Yes, now please hurry, I cannot keep the connection open long_. \\\

// _Yours_. \\\ Sam answered, brow furrowing. As much as he wanted to be in the Impala again, he didn't think it was such a good idea. Being in a car for so long with Dean was bound to be a disaster, it was likely he would ask many questions about everything over the last two years. Not to mention, the last time that Sam had seen his brother, he had been standing alongside their father when he was told never to go back.

Dean raised an eyebrow and Sam faltered, “you don't mind if Michael tags along, do you Dean?”

Dean gave what Sam knew to be a fake smile, “no, not at all.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Michael nodded back at him, before speaking, “but on Sam's behalf, I believe we should first get you warded.”

Dean blinked, and Sam elaborated, sending a sharp look at Michael for pushing his luck, “he means that we should get you some supernatural protection. He took me to get mine as soon as he learned that I didn't have any.” Sam spun around, grabbing his shirt by the collar and jerking it over his head to reveal the tattoo, “it's made entirely from sigils to keep away monsters and to make sure I can't be possessed.”

Dean stepped closer to get a better look, and whistled, “Damn, Sammy, that's a lot of wards. How many d’you need?”

Sam grinned, tugging his shirt back on, “as many as it takes to keep the monsters away.” Dean chuckled, it was an old joke between them, starting when Dean had first let him ward the motel room, and had come back to the walls covered floor to ceiling with as many sigils as Sam could find.

_  
“Damn, Sammy,” Dean whistled, glancing around the motel room. There was barely an inch of the small room not covered with sigils and protections. “How many wards do you need?”_

_Sam glanced up from his book at Dean through wide eyes, head tilted, “As many as it takes to keep the monster away!” He called excitedly._

  
“Fam’ntal,” Michael called absently, snapping Sam from his reverie.

“Yeah?” He turned to where Michael was bent over the supply bag, it was rested on the trunk of his car as he searched through it. Dean glanced up from his place at the impala’s trunk, he was checking his own supply. Fam’ntal was his name in the angelic language, he’d learnt that a few months ago, and ever since he’d noticed that Michael would call him that when distracted. He actually quite liked the name.

_“Hey Fam’ntal?” Sam glanced up as Michael spoke, he was flipping through a book, brow furrowed._

_“Fam’ntal?” Sam echoed curiously, though he knew that he absolutely butchered the pronunciation. Either way, Michael's head snapped up like a whip, eyes wide with surprise._

_“W-What?” He stuttered._

_Sam blinked, had Michael not noticed he’d said anything? “You called me… Fam’ntal?” This time his accent was slightly better, though not quite on point._

_“I… apologize,” Michael blinked, “it's your name in enochian, the angelic language. I was merely surprised to hear you speak it, it has been a long time since anyone talked to me in that language. You shan’t hear it again if you don't wish to.”_

_“No… it's alright, I don't mind, actually…” He answered. It looked as if that single word meant a lot to him, because just as Sam said that, his eyes lit up like fireworks, and he flashed an easy grin._

_“Thanks… Fam’ntal.”_

“Where's my blade?” He asked, glancing up.

“Don't you have it?” He asked.

“No,” he shook his head, holding up the golden archangel blade, “the other one, with the sigils.” Sam knew which one he was talking about, a pure, silver blade with many carved sigils dancing over the metal like a spider's web. Each line was thin and barely seen, filled to the brim with archangel’s grace. Apparently, it had been a gift from his brother, who had taken up smithing at one point.

Sam glanced down at his own pack, searching through the many blades that filled the bag, stabbing at the fabric in such a way that one would expect the material to break. He spotted and grabbed it, the metal cool against his palms as he tossed it over.

Before they set out for Jericho, they were doing a quick supply check. It appeared as if they had everything, so Sam jogged over to the mustang and slipped inside. The scent was familiar, it smelled of pine and woodsmoke with a hint of ozone, very much Michael's aroma. He could even catch a very noticeable drift of his own cologne, not surprising as he had spent so much time in the vehicle.

Sam settled back, hands coming to rest on the steering wheel, he would be driving this time, though he didn't quite know why. Michael had tossed the keys to him on the way out the door with a quick, “don’t crash us.” And- oddly- no further explanation. Perhaps it was because Dean was around, and he didn't want to say anything?

He glanced up as Michael slipped into the car, closing the door behind him with a familiar noise, his eyes flashing with an odd emotion that Sam couldn't catch in the dim light.

“You’ll be following Dean. I need some rest.” Michael explained, before he shifted, resting his head against the car door, and closed his eyes.

  
Sam followed the impala through the many, winding back roads that Dean was oh so fond of. It was difficult to follow a black car in the dead of night, but the moon lit his way, and the familiar taillights guided him. Beside him, he could hear the faint breathing of Michael, the angel didn't need to breathe, and Sam wondered if he had even noticed that he did so while he slept.

Unfortunately, the gentle sound didn't last much longer, as only an hour later, he was awake, scanning the car with his eyes, grace not far behind. It was a habit, Sam noticed, whenever he awoke he searched for… _something_. Perhaps he was merely looking for any danger, but something told him that wasn't it. Michael truly was a mystery…

  
The case flew by and- as it turned out- Michael actually worked quite well with Dean. Once the hunter was used to the archangel, the atmosphere relaxed, allowing Sam some breathing room.

  
Sam settled into his bed across from Dean, and he had to admit that it was quite odd. He was so used to Michael in the other bed, the room silent apart from the occasional humming that occurred throughout the night. However, with Dean, everything seemed too loud, oh, he would get to sleep alright, years of growing up with those noises granted him a safe passage into rest, but that didn't mean that it wasn't weird.

Michael was staying in the motel room just beside theirs, and yet, Sam couldn't help but worry about him. He knew that Michael suffered from night terrors. Unless his grace was low enough, when sleeping he often shifted restlessly, generally whimpering in a sound that sent pain rolling through Sam's heart. He was concerned- though mostly thankful- when Michael had not dreamt during the car ride, and that could only mean his grace was low. For the archangels sanity, he prayed that it stayed low enough.

  
Michael did not want to sleep, he knew terror would await him, but his grace was too low to pass up the opportunity to re-charge. Already, he could feel the cold creeping in, a deep chill that had once brought him joy, but now only brought terror and pain. Everything was too quiet, and that only made it worse, he was so used to Sam's soft breaths, the gentle shifting as he changed sides in the middle of the night, Michael wanted Sam, even if he shouldn't.

He knew he loved Sam, had known since the day he had pulled him from the cage, familiar eyes wide, and smiling despite being covered in blood and dirt. He hadn't known how much he had truly missed the bright little soul until he had seen him again, and until he had lost him. Sam had died in the battle, he had jumped in front of a blade meant for Michael, the cold steel had went clean through him, and Michael still remembered the smile on his face as he died, finally peaceful for the first time in years. He remembered his own scream of agony, his outrage as he plunged his sword through the otherworld Michael's chest, and the grim satisfaction that had fallen over him a split second before he was consumed with grief.

Michael had loved the Sam Winchester he had protected in the cage, had loved the Sam Winchester that broke the world so many times, and broke himself even more to fix it. He loved the older Sam Winchester with a squared jaw, haunted eyes and a grim smile, but who could light up like the sun in an instant, who could bring a smile to anyone's face, and who shone brighter than God himself.

But he also loved this Sam, who he’d hunted with for a year, who’d worked so hard for his own freedom, that had the courage Michael never had to stand up to his family. He loved the younger Sam with a soft face, kind eyes and the brightest smile, who Michael knew he would do anything for, with eyes like fire and a smile of gold, his heart bigger than Heaven, filled to the brim with determination and passion.

_Yes, Michael knew he loved Sam Winchester, and maybe, a part of him always had._

 


	6. First demons

They were trapped, on a plane, thousands of miles in the air, with a demon.

Not for the first time, Michael questioned the sanity of the Winchesters, hands digging roughly into the uncomfortable seats of the plane. He was not worried for himself, no, he was worried for the very human Sam and Dean, as well as the also very human passengers. It would be almost nothing for even a low-level demon to bring down this plane, in fact, the only reason that it hadn't the first time around, was because he’d had some seraphs keeping it aloft.

The archangel cast a searching look over the interior of the death trap, looking to see if he could find any of the angels that he had sent, his grace bound tightly under wraps. Were any angel to see his grace, they would know that something was up, as he was quite clearly Michael, though he looked like he'd pretty much been through a blender. The comparison between himself and the puréed fruits that Sam mixed into his smoothies was funny, if slightly inaccurate. Rather, he looked more like he’d been through eons of torture – which, really, he had.

So far, he saw no angels and- the demon being quite low-ranked- he wouldn't be able to see said abomination until he released his grace, and by then it was likely to be chaos as it realized just who Michael was. At the moment, he was practically human, with all his power bound down deep within, his sight was even hidden, meaning that he was looking at faces, rather than souls. Had he not have hidden his natural sight, it would have been easy to pick out the rolling black mass from the crowd of bright, glowing lights. He scanned once more, trying to see if he could sense any other angels with a small tendril of grace, sending it poking around the entire plane, picking up no stray feeling of power. It seemed as if his being here had altered some things, as he found nothing, not even a stray echo of grace that was usually left over when an angel visited somewhere.

He let out a breath, gently allowing his second sight to slip through. His perception of the world shifted, he could now vaguely see small, wispy balls of light resting just next to the heart. Some were smooth and stil, while others were bouncy and hyped.

He allowed his third sight over, glad not to be using his fourth sight, which tended to use even more grace than he thought was really necessary. The small souls grew tenfold until they were the size of the people themselves, they looked like portals to another dimension in those crappy tv shows, thin ovals of swirling, glowing lights with bright flecks around them. This was generally their most used vision, and he felt much more at ease using it, however, before he could even scan for the demon, one particular soul caught his eye. It was brighter than all the rest, a white that would have burned his eyes had he been human. He felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight. It sent a flash of surprise through him, for he had not yet seen the soul of Sam Winchester, untainted by the harsh, unjustified treatment the world had bestowed upon him. It sent his grace rolling, rippling and twisting and twining, brightening with a new form of an emotion he had always enjoyed; _love_.

He had become quite familiar with the emotion, and seeing the soul of the object of his affections, it grew. Because of course, Sam, modeled to bare his own brother, would shine nearly as bright as his own grace, the contrast between them was low, and at first glance one would see no difference between the two. Warmth bloomed in his chest, like a flower opening for the first time, and he pushed away the quiet voice in his head- sounding suspiciously like his younger brothers- that called him sappy, and a love-struck puppy. He could see it, could make the connection between a young pup and it’s owner, the way he would do anything asked of him, eager to please, even if it meant baiting his life on the thin line of acceptance, and disappointment.

His wings rippled in protest as he finally tore his gaze away, forcing himself to scan the plane with a light tendril of grace, slowly growing bolder and more powerful with each brush and prod that came up empty-handed.

Then, in a flash, he found it. The mass of tainted black spun and turned in a distinct motion of unrest, and his grace rolled, a slimy feeling covering every inch, both of his true form and his vessel. He shuddered, shifting visions easily, and leaned forward so he could whisper in Sam’s ear, shoving away the sickness that rose from deep within.

“ _The_ _pilot_ ,” he whispered, “ _the pilot is possessed_.”

  
Sam shivered as warm breath rolled over his exposed neck, tickling him and carrying forth a vague hint of ozone and mint, he tilted his head accordingly to better hear what was said, a light shiver running through him.

“The pilot, the pilot is possessed.” His heart dropped, the _pilot_? This was going to be a problem…

He felt cold when Michael moved away, and leaned over to Dean with a shiver, the handle of his blade digging roughly into his side as he did so.

“Dean,” he cast a searching glance over the area, “It’s the pilot, Michael’s ward is going off.”

“The pilot? Damn,” his older brother cursed, digging his nails into his palms with a brief mixture of nerves and anger, eyes narrowed. “Exorcising the pilot is a helluva lot harder than exorcising a flight attendant.”

Sam hummed his agreement, watching as Dean started toward the back of the plane, where the flight attendant, Amanda stood.

As soon as he was gone, Michael leaned forward once more, resting his arms over the back of the seat, “would you like me to fake an emergency? I can create an illusion if you would like, it would certainly get the pilots attention, and if I let free   
some of my grace, the demon will be more inclined to check it out.”

“Okay,” Sam agreed hastily, though his eyes were focused straight ahead, on the door to the cockpit. “Wait for Dean to come back first, though,” thankfully, the flight was quite quiet, lights dimmed, so they had no problems communicating despite the countless people surrounding them.

 

The blonde settled beside him, still looking slightly wary at being on the plane. “Spoke to Amanda,” he glanced around, “there's no way we can convince her to lure the pilot back here. She ain't gonna budge.”

“You asked her?” Sam sounded incredulous, raising an eyebrow at his brother before casting a glance back towards the woman.

“What?” Dean drew back. “Of course not!”

“Good, because Michael has a better idea, anyway.” Dean raised a suspicious eyebrow, sparing the archangel an odd look.

 

“Yeah?” He asked, seeking confirmation, his jaw tightening in worry, eyes narrow. To be fair, it was mighty suspicious, a supposed hunter who’d been living with Sam during Stanford, who just so happened to have a solution to everything, and who had an uncomfortably tight hold on Sam, the man had his claws dug right into the other males heart, slowly tightening, and he knew his brother would never notice until it was too late, and he was hurt, or worse, dead.

  
The plan, was stupid.

  
The demon blinked in surprise at the familiar feeling of dark power. He had never been afforded a name, too low on the hierarchy to deserve one, and so it was quite the surprise that any demon would come to visit him, let alone one that felt as powerful as this one. It was a form of demonic calling, one would flare a piece of its power toward the fellow demon it wished to see, and then they would meet.

He stood, making a quick excuse to the other male beside him, and headed toward the power flare-up.

  
Expecting a demon, he pressed back the purple drapes, before scampering back at the first sign of what was awaiting him, power whirling. What met him was holy, pure light tainted and darkened by the flames of hell, but it was not his Lord that stood before him, no, it was another. He stood tall and proud despite his battle scarred form, heads of three towering high, a lion, a stag, and an almost humanoid face stood in the middle. Wings of six spread wide, a bright, smeared white that burned at what remained of his eyes. His halo, completely untarnished by the contamination of hell, it glowed fiercely, the light burning at his dark power until it created a low hissing, indiscernible to the human ears. _Michael_ , his brain screamed, _Michael the Archangel._

He leapt away, but found himself backed by two familiar souls, the Winchesters. _He was trapped._

The demon was smote before the inky blackness even reached the Gates of Hell.


	7. Chapter 7

The darkness enveloped him gently, the cold that surrounded him worked together to suppress his thoughts, and for the first time in months, his mind was clear, completely blank.

It was something he’d done countless times when the stress of life got to be too much. He’d fill the crappy motel bath with cold water, flick out the lights, and just float. It was quite peaceful, really, it gave Sam time to just unravel and relax.

However, even the peaceful atmosphere of the water was not enough to quell the years of pure, hunter instincts. The second the door opened, he knew, the second the people entered the room, he knew. He stilled for a brief instant, before sitting up, straining to hear. Unfortunately, he hadn’t realized what had happened until it was too late. Dean had brought a girl home…

Sam, oppressed by his own awkwardness, refused to interrupt, not to mention that he had left his clothes in the motel room… so he waited, he waited until he could tell they were asleep, before sneaking out.

It was a quick dash across the hall, towel around his waist. He knew that Michael’s door would be unlocked, just having the archangel occupying it was protection enough, and so he never bothered with the bolts they all came with.

The man on the bed blinked, head turning to the door with slight curiousity in his gaze, though at the state of Sam he averted his eyes respectfully.

“Can I borrow some clothes?” Sam asked, spouting out a quick thanks when Michael merely pointed to his own pack. The other male was only slightly shorter than Sam, maybe a few inches, and he wore longer clothes anyway, so that was no problem, rather, it was Sam’s unyielding blush. The clothes smelled of the other male, which bugged Sam more than it probably should have, in all honesty.

“Sorry,” he apologized, scratching at the base of his neck as he exited the bathroom, ignoring his slight shortness of breath at the slightly darkened eyes. He chalked it up to the dim, almost orange glow of the light, and tried hastily to explain himself. “Dean brought a girl home, he didn’t realize I was in the bath…”

The other male hummed, but didn’t say anything for a long moment. “You take the bed,” he said eventually, “I do not require sleep, this you know. I will watch the room.”

Sam’s blush darkened, “oh, it’s alright, she’ll be gone in a few hours anyway… I’ll just head into town like usual.” He protested weakly.

“Nonsense,” The male disagreed, standing in a single, swift motion, “It is better that you sleep, we have a hunt tomorrow, and you shall be speaking to the police with Dean, it would do you no favours to be exhausted.”

He nodded and slipped into the bed, a quick glance at the clock told him it was nearly midnight.

He slept better than he had in a while that night, surrounded by the scent of the angel he cared for (though he didn't know it yet).

  
Michael shifted awkwardly, unable to contain the odd feeling of gratitude that rose in his chest for Dean Winchester. He had set forward a series of emotions that led to this scene, Sam was curled up in what was currently his bed, wearing his clothes, and it sent a spark of possessiveness through him. Not only that, but he was sleeping peacefully for the first time in awhile, untarnished by Azazel’s reach.

Even Michael could not keep away the falsified dreams of the fallen, the blood acted as a sort of lever, a conduit, even, one the archangel could not break without Sam ingesting the direct opposite, his own blood. However, even if he had gotten Sam's consent on the matter, Azazel would be immediately alerted and- considering he was working with them- so would the angels. Even he- being in a weakened state- could not keep his former self away for long. Michael let free a sigh that had built up, and busied himself with trying ro remove the taint that encompassed his grace clinging tightly to every inch.

  
Morning fell over the land like a blanket, the early light- greyed by the remnants of night- drifted over the land like a mist, though there was none in sight. Birds chirped loudly, calling out to others of their species for companionship.

Michael likened himself to a bird. Though he suppressed it, his grace cried out longingly for his siblings. Just knowing that they were _here_ and _alive_ , was enough to have him antsy, and nearly enough to send him speeding for Heaven, grace aching to be soothed and healed by that of his brethren.

Michael shifted his attention to Sam, who had just begun to stir. He knew that if he continued along that lane of thought, he would be unable to contain himself from following through with it. Naturally, it would not be good, he knew his younger self would listen to no one but their Father, not even his future self, he would thing it was a test and Michael would be killed, with darkness prevailing.

  
Sam blinked awake, the memories rushing back to him, and he groaned. He sat up, unsurprised to see Michael on the couch, looking lazily around the room. At his movement, the male turned his sharp gaze to Sam, it took him a long moment to speak.

“Sam,” he finally said, brow furrowing, “perhaps you can help me with something.”

  
Michael- having his third sight active (as always when trying to heal himself)- couldn't help but notice the purity of Sam's soul, all but one small, black and yellow streak. Perhaps he could help the both of them…

“It is no secret that I am not at full power,” he rolled the words around in his mouth, as if testing their affective prowess, “something has been holding me back from reaching such, but I think that you can help me with that...”

“How?” Sam furrowed his brows, probably wondering how _he_ could help such a being.

“ _By letting me use your soul…”_


	8. The Power of the Human Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestły hate how short this is, it bugs me, but I literally couldn't think of what to write, I've hit a bit of writing block, and my chapters were short to begin with!
> 
> Either way, enjoy!

“The power power of my soul…? Sam questioned, anxiously running his hands over the blankets. He didn't really like the sound of that, souls... that sounded dangerous. Sam trusted Michael, he really did, but he and his brother had always been taught that messing with souls was bad, and would likely end in death.

“It would be a simple procedure, you might feel a little tired for a few days, however, if it works I will likely be able to fix it anyways,” Michael explained, shifting sights with practiced ease, his comfort relaxed Sam slightly, settling his frayed nerves.

“Is…” Sam furrowed his brows curiously, “is that it…? He had been expecting more, a catch.

Michael shook his head after a moment, “no, it might remove, or soften your dreams, though… I make no promises…” Shock rolled over him at that, first at the fact that Michael even knew about his dreams, and then about the fact that he could possibly help them. His nightmares were horrid, filled with fire and blood, and in the center of it all, was a man with sandy blond hair, and eyes as cold and pale as eyes, with a set of six, charred wings.

Sam thought for a long moment, before slowly nodding, “yeah, okay,” he agreed. No possible side-affects were worth skipping out on this possibility.

“I need you to say yes, Sam.” He spoke, making his way to sit next to him on the bed, his gait slow and measured, shoulders hunched forward slightly. Sam could tell that he was preparing, power growing thick in the air until it felt heavy.

“Yes,” Sam agreed breathily, the power in the air made his throat close, and a spark of something form deep within his chest.

Michael held out a hand and Sam took it without hesitation. “You needn't do a thing,” he assured, “everything will be completely instinctual, and- please, no matter what happens, what I do, never break contact.”

Sam gulped, and the world was engulfed in searing white light.

In reality, things were not so simple, Michael took a deep breath- born of habit, rather than necessity- and dove headfirst into Sam Winchester’s soul.

He submerged himself completely, reveling in the warmth an instant before the tables turned, and it began to burn. The purity had begun to melt away most of the taint, his chanting helping to force it away. He fell easily into the guttural tongue of enochian.

He could not get it all, but in the end, stray grace snapped to him like a taut rubber band had broken, the world covered in a light of glowing white, the universe shaking from the force.

Michael's head snapped back, eyes glowing a blinding white. A ringing sounded as his shoulders jerked backwards, shadows of six, giant wings cast over the cream coloured walls.

Michael was whole…

“So much for remaining a secret…” Michael muttered when the light faded, turning to Sam with a small smile. “Thank you,” he breathed sincerely, grace humming as he gently brushed Sam's forehead with his free hand, using his power to remove as much of the blood as he possibly could, before advocating to rid the brunet of the rest. He might as well, any supernatural creature on earth now knew of his existence, what worse could this do?

“Sam, I am now at full power, and so, I can rid you completely of the dreams.” He took a breath, and began to explain, starting from the beginning.

  
“I have demon blood in me?” Sam cried in horror, disgust covering every inch of his face, his soul rolling in revulsion as Michael finished explaining.

“Yes,” he confirmed, “and the only way to remove it would be to ingest my blood…” Michael informed seriously, eyes sharp.

“Than do it!” Sam ran a hand over the headboard, sounding slightly angry from the news, “I’d rather the blood of an angel than a demon!”

“It will be painful,” Michael warned, “Once it has begun, it cannot be stopped. No matter how much you scream or beg.”

“I don't care!” Sam spat, “yes!”

Michael lunged forward, he knew if he hesitated for even a second, that he would back out. Slightly rougher than need be, he pinned Sam down onto the bed- aware the experience would be slightly more comfortable if he was laying down- and shifted so he was straddling the other male. Sam opened his mouth to call out, and nearly jumped in surprise when a bloodied wrist was pressed against his lips. Michael had used his own blade to slice a deep wound along his arm, ignoring the fresh grace that poured out, and instead directed it to follow his blood, directly into Sam Winchester. He felt pain spark along his arm, dancing over the injury, only made worse by Sam's mouth. He could tell his eyes were glowing, but he was more focused on the fact that Sam's were, too. They were whiter than freshly fallen snow, and glowing just as bright as Michael's grace once had, long before his fall from grace and time in the cage. He could feel their skin like fire through their connected hand, it felt like lightning crackling in the air, thunder booming outside the motel room. He snatched his wrist away after a moment, the wound healing as he twined their fingers together, and pinned his wrists above his head, wings flaring.

Sam arched beneath him with a bloodcurdling scream, hands clinging tightly to Michael's, face flushed. Were anyone to walk in, they would certainly get the wrong idea, but Michael couldn't bring himself to care as he pressed their foreheads together, trying to comfort him through the pain.

“ _Sam_ ,” he murmured, repeating it, “Sam, Sam…”

Eventually, the light in his eyes faded, and he settled back, down, clearly unconscious.

Michael settled beside him, gently running his hands over Sam's back in apology, resting their heads together. There was nothing to be done, merely remain close in the hopes that the grace within his blood would appreciate his closeness.

  
Michael, Viceroy of Heaven glanced up at the sharp wave of light and power that rolled over the universe. It was... odd... It felt much like his own grace, but tainted and damaged by hellfire... He looked up at the flutter of wings that sounded from his doorway, eyes meeting that of his brother, Raphael's.

"It was not me," He kept his voice even, eyes sharp and cold, "If that is what you were thinking."

Raphael- as well as he hid it- was uneasy, wings fluttering with nervous unrest. "Time travel?" He offered, though Michael could tell he was just grasping at straws, looking for a way to soothe himself and the rest of Heaven.

Michael snorted, shoulders arching back in a slightly aggressive move. "My grace would never- could never grow so tainted, let alone by hellfire. No, it is our favourite, caged little brother playing a prank. He wants to get my attention, to weaken me before the approaching battle." Settled, Raphael left in a flutter of wings, likely to tell exactly that to their fellow brothers and sisters.

Michael hummed, scanning a large, layered map that smothered his desk. He focused on a single, charred and blackened piece, settled just next to the Winchesters. "Nice one, my dear self," He whispered with a dark grin, "but you cannot keep me away for very long."


	9. Dreamland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this is late, but I was having major technology troubles. I can't tell you how many time I re-wrote this chapter, that and I had crazy writing block. We also went on vacation, and my birthday passed. So yeah, things have been pretty hectic, but here it is, the next chapter! Sorry it's really short, but after writing it for the fifth time, I just decided it didn't matter as much as my sanity. :)
> 
> Okay, thank you so much for being patient, stay tuned for a bit of an important announcement at the end. 
> 
> Thanks, guys! Bye!

 

 _Michael glanced around the blank corridors of Heaven nervously, tattered wings half-spread to carry him away in the blink of an eye. This was not the real Heaven he knew, but that didn't stop his anxiousness. A dream, something he had never known could be quite so realistic, not until he had been extracted from the cage._ 'To fight like a good little soldier' _his brain reminded him cruelly,_ 'they just wanted you to kill him and be done' _. Michael shook his head, clutching it tightly, and s_ _crewing his eyes shut. It wasn't true- it wasn't! Sam had died for him! As much as it hurt to remind himself of such memories, it also made him feel a bit more solid in his protests._ 'For you? Sam died for the world. He never cared about you, just his precious little earth!' _"Stop!" Michael screamed helplessly, then hands as cold as ice grabbed hold of him, and dragged him through a closed door. It slammed open easily, falling away like_ _water beneath him, and Michael crumbled to his knees. '_ Look' _It cooed, and his head was jerked up forcefully, his eyelids pried open. Sam stood above Michael with a_ _cruel grin, eyes as black as night._

 

_"You thought I actually cared about you?" He taunted, sneering. He reached out, fast as lightning, burying his hands roughly in Michael's hair. He laughed coldly,_ _bending down so he could get in the males face, "_ pathetic _, as if anyone could ever care for you. You are nothing." A punch landed squarely on his jaw, and Michael collapsed like he weighed nothing. He screamed and began to thrash as very suddenly, he felt the floor give way beneath him. He fell through the melted ground, and landed in another completely white room. He was there for only a second, vision flashing up to a horrifying sight. It was him, younger, but still him. He was pure,_ _untarnished by hell, and he was chained and gagged, the otherworld Michael standing above him. Michael screamed, then the floor gave out, crumbling until he was_ _left hurtling for earth- and for the cage._

 

  
A scream sounded loudly through Sam's sleep, jerking him awake. It was horrifying in its familiarity, bloodcurdling and completely panicked. Sam leapt from his bed easily, Dean following. Michael, it was Michael. He was glad they were the only ones in the motel as Sam burst out his door and took off towards the closely placed room. He nearly broke the door down, brother on his heels as he crashed into the room, eyes landing on Michael. he was still screaming, and thrashing rather violently, Sam could see that he'd caught his face at one point, and blood now leaked swiftly down his cheek. he jumped to interfere, grabbing hold of his far-too-warm hands and pinned him. Dean stayed back, watching but ready to get involved in an instant.

 

"Michael!" He yelled, "Michael wake up! It's just a dream, just a dream!" Eyes like the ocean flashed open, and he gasped sharply, before seeming to calm. The instant of peace shattered, however, when his eyes widened again, and he broke easily out of Sam's grip, on the other side of the room in the flash of an eye. He was hyperventilating, and while Sam knew it wasn't as dangerous for him, he still felt worried. "Michael-" he spoke softer now, tone as calm as he could force it in the wake of his worry, "-it's just me, it's Sam."

 

**"Zacar niisa, Zacar. Parame adagita zomdv exentaser. Ol zir a noco de Elo,"** His eyes were glazed, like he didn't recognize him, and his face was cold, stony. Sam swallowed around the lump in his throat and crept closer. He knew it likely wasn't the best idea to approach the archangel right now, but he seriously needed to calm Michael down before he revealed something to Dean.

 

Michael didn't take kindly to Sam's movements, and lunged forward to grab a tight hold of his wrist, eyes more white than blue. Sam winced, flinching at the painful grip and tried to think of a way out. **"Ol gohe zacar."** Michael hissed, **"ol torzvl erm a bagie de Elo. solpeth ascha tolteregi, ol iolcam teloah."**

 

He blinked, trying to make sense of the words, before it hit him. Michael was speaking enochian, and it was likely he wasn't even awake, at least not fully. "...Famn'tal..." he tried, quietly at first, before speaking louder. "Famn'tal." Michael cocked his head, face still blank as ever, and cold like ice. "Famn'tal," he tried again, louder still, tone as clear as he could make it. He still wasn't very good at saying it, but it seemed to be enough when Michael copied him.

 

"Famn'tal?" He asked, grip faltering. The white in his eyes faded back to a soft blue, and he regained his senses. "Sam?" His voice crackled, and he sounded very much like a child in that moment. "Oh God, I'm so sorry."

 

"It's fine," he leaned forward, brushing away the blood on his cheek with a careful hand, though it mostly just smeared it. "Are you alright?"

 

"Fine, I'm fine." He blinked, finally releasing Sam's wrist, curling in on himself, eyes still wide. Sam almost wished that he couldn't see the faint tear tracks that stained his face, streaks still visible in the dim lighting of the moon outside.

 

Sam pursed his lips and gently grabbed hold just above the angels elbows, "come on," he drew him up, pulling the shaky male as close as he would go- which wasn't much, as he still seemed to be afraid of hurting Sam- and led him to the bathroom, shooting Dean a glance. He started the shower, keeping the water cool so it would wake him up, though not so much that it would be cold. He peeled back the shower curtains, and turned to look at Michael, who was still watching him like a hawk, his expression holding a faint undertone of a deer caught in the headlights. Sam gave him a soft, knowing smile and made for the door. "I'll let you be for a minute." Though when he went to shut it, a hand grabbed his wrist, much softer this time.

 

"Wait," he thought for a moment, before seemingly coming up with nothing. "Please," he muttered. Sam nodded, pushing the door open a bit more and stepping back into the dark room, illuminated faintly by the golden glow of the bathroom light.

 

"I'm not going anywhere, I'll be right here on the bed. In a few minutes I'll bring your clothes in. Okay?" Michael nodded, looking thankful, and disappeared into the bathroom. A few moments later, he heard the shower curtain shift, and Sam moved to turn on the light. A soft glow filled the room and he stepped up to the familiar black duffle bag. He unzipped it, and set to work. Dean had left the room, so he felt alright about ruffling through the familiar possessions' of Michael. He grabbed his favourite blue shirt (which Sam himself quite enjoyed, though it wasn't his intentions when he plucked it from the rest), a pair of comfortable, black sweatpants, and nabbed Michael's amulet from the dresser, which he knew would calm the man to have it around. He set them on the counter, careful to keep his footsteps audible, rather than sink back into their usual silent nature. "Your clothes are on the counter, Mi. I'm still in the room."

 

  
Michael felt much calmer in the shower, it chased away all remnants of sleep from his mind, reminded him that _this_ was the real world- not the dream, and that Sam cared about him. Perhaps it wasn't quite in the way he wanted, but it was something, it was enough, and Michael would never, _ever_ force Sam into something he didn't want. He wasn't a monster, wasn't as far gone as his otherworldly counterpart seemed to be.

 

He couldn't believe he'd threatened Sam, had managed to fall into such a deep trance that he'd reverted into what Gabriel had dibbed their 'Archangel Mode.' It was a sort of failsafe, when an archangel felt threatened enough, they could draw power and courage from their Father. Not much- mind you- just enough that they would be able to defeat whatever was endangering them, that or escape to their Father, who would take care of it. When in such a state, they had a very hard time with memories, they lived only to serve and carry out God's will in that moment- protect Creation. It wasn't exactly his fault, but that didn't really make him feel much better about what he'd done. Michael's wings curled around him, and he couldn't help but run his fingers along one of his primaries, watching the muddled white shift into a dull yellow. His wings had once been a brighter, shinier white than the light of Heaven itself, and it had looked as if his feathers had been dipped in gold. They hadn't been the most beautiful or anything, but they were impressive nonetheless. Now, they'd changed so much, the colours had dulled and faded, and each one was streaked with ash and blood that never seemed to come off no matter how hard he scrubbed them. Feathers had been torn out, and still had not grown back, leaving gaps in his wings, and a few small patches of reddened flesh, coated with irremovable blood.

 

He shuddered slightly and removed his hands, forcing them to stretch out behind him. He flexed the feathers, allowing them to change into steel for a brief instant, becoming bladed, before easily flashing back. He turned off the water, which he hadn't even noticed that he'd changed, it was to the point where it was hot enough to burn- had he been a human, that is. He stepped out and grabbed his clothes, feeling a flash of gratitude at seeing what Sam had grabbed for him. He changed quickly, then stepped from the bathroom, steeling himself to face the man that he loved- and had just hurt, _threatened to kill_.

"Sam."

 

  
Dean had left the instant Sam pulled Michael into the bathroom, it felt like he was intruding on a private moment, something he had definitely never enjoyed. Instead, he headed out for a walk, thinking. They were closer than he'd thought possible, which he really wasn't happy about. He didn't like Michael, he was a damn good hunter, and he could get along with the guy face-to-face, but there was something... off about him. He had a solution to everything, for one; second, he acted kind of fishy, he stood too straight, his eyes were too bright, and he spoke too formally- it was seriously unnatural. Third, he and Sam were way too close for people who'd spent a year living together, they were almost as in sync as Sam and Dean, which had been achieved through nearly twenty years of hunting and growing up together. Something wasn't right with that guy, and he was going to find out what.

 

But first, to try and get Sam away from Michael, before things got too hectic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm going to start re-writing the earlier chapters, I re-read them, and honestly? Garbage. I'm at that stage in writing, where your style just goes through a really drastic, dramatic change, and everything you wrote before raises some eyebrows, and earns a few cringes. Anyways, thank you! 
> 
> Translations of enochian:
> 
> Zacar niisa, Zacar. Parame adagita zomdv exentaser. Ol zir a noco de Elo- move away, move, run to your mother. I am the servant of God.
> 
> Ol gohe zacar- I said move.
> 
> ol torzvl erm a bagie de Elo. solpeth ascha tolteregi, ol iolcam teloah- I shall rise with the fury of God. Listen well, creature, I bring forth death.
> 
> All translations are in order. Goodbye!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first story here. Sorry it's so short, I'm trying to make my chapters longer. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!


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